Child of the Snows
by Azaisya
Summary: My life has been one huge adventure, but that's what you get from being me, I suppose. A cruel twist of fate had Alduin attack Helgen, my home. An even crueler twist came when I was inducted into the bandits living there and the Dragonborn came and attacked. Now I must live with the man who they call a legend. Rated T cause I'm paranoid and, really, this is Skyrim.
1. Helgen's Death

**Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim.**

I alighted on the wooden fence, watching the wagons come in with the Stormcloak soldiers. My whole life, I had never left Helgen. I stared at this rebels, wondering what things they had seen. Sure, they were rebels and were about to get executed, but they had also traveled the whole of Skyrim!

All I had done was go hunt in the nearby hills. I sighed and dragged my hunting bow onto my lap. It was never pleasant, watching a mass execution like this, but I stayed outside for one reason. Well, two. The first is that I was currently in trouble with the innkeeper for accidentally burning down the cupboard in the room I was renting with a bit of Destruction magic while I slept. What can I say if I use magic in my sleep?

The innkeeper was also upset because the event was entirely unnecessary; I had a home. It was just that my family was so insufferably _boring_, I preferred to stay in the inn.

The second reason is that we had finally caught Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and the leader of the rebels called Stormcloak. Honestly, to me, they seemed like a bit more than rebels to me if they've taken over half of Skyrim. But now the war was over. Ulfric is going to be executed today. From the rumors flying around, there had been an ambush by the border of Cyrodiil, and these Stormcloaks had been caught. That was the most believable of the rumors. Some of the others included Ulfric Shouting and some men turning into (of all things) mushrooms. I believed the Shouting bit. Just not the mushrooms. Some other folk said that the Imperial Legion's soldiers had been outnumbered two to one, but still won. I didn't believe that. There weren't very many Stormcloak soldiers, but the Imperials seemed endless.

I hopped down and and walked closer to the wagons. I found Ulfric's wagon, and my eyes widened in delight. In the same wagon as Ulfric, who was obviously sulking, was a panicky looking thief, a fair haired Stormcloak, and a clear eyed Nord. The Nord wasn't wearing the armor of the Stormcloaks, instead wearing thin rags. I stared. He must be freezing, Nord blood or not. Despite the fact he was going to be executed in moments, I allowed myself to appreciate his obviously muscular body. He shook his blond hair out of his eyes, and I blinked, basking in his gaze. He drew his eyes away from me, and I sighed. By the Eight Divines, he was handsome.

Someone called my name. "Eveleigh! Stop staring at the soldiers and get inside, you idiot Breton!"

I sighed and turned around, my long auburn hair swaying in the wind. My aunt stalked over and snapped, "Get inside! You shouldn't be watching this!"

One of the soldiers started jeering at me, calling me sweetheart and things like that. I ignored him. I knew I was beautiful for a Breton, and I took full advantage of that when I could. It helped when my mother asked the guards where I was. I made a point to sweet-talk all of them regularly.

My aunt tried to drag me inside, only succeeding in getting me to the wooden railing in front of the house, but I craned my neck, staring at the now still wagons. "Wait. I just want to see Ulfric get executed! It's a once in a lifetime chance!"

My aunt let go of my arm and growled, waiting impatiently for Ulfric Stormcloak's name to be called. She snapped, "You know they're going to execute him last, don't you? You just want to see it all." I rolled my eyes.

The thief I'd seen before tried to make a run for it, crying, "You can't catch me!"

"Halt!" The Imperal Captain called. My hand twitched toward my bow just as the Captain cried, "Archers!" The thief was shot in the back by a soldier of the Legion. I gritted my teeth as he crumbled to the ground. If those idiot soldiers would just let me show them what I was made of... I would rise to become the best of them all. I could use godsforsaken magic as well as arrows!

I heard the priest begin a long speech. I zoned out until a Stormcloak soldier interrupted her because she said, "By the Eight Divines..." They executed him, and I watched in fascination as blood flew everywhere. I admired the way he was fearless, even in death. My aunt made a noise between a grunt and a snort, obviously disapproving of my watching.

My mother would scold me for watching, I knew. Something about innocent young maidens watching such grisly things. Pah! As if I were innocent! I brought home game almost every night for the family. Not that they cared. They probably just thought I bought it. I don't think my parents even know I know how to use a bow. Or any type of weapon, arcane or not, for that matter.

What do they think I do with the Septims I get from hunting (and chopping wood)? Buy pretty jewelry? Of course not! I bought godsforsaken arrows, or the tools I needed to make arrows.

My aunt gritted her teeth. "Can we go inside now?"

I replied with my usual when someone wanted me to do something, "Give me twenty of your best arrows." She didn't have any arrows. My family owned only a couple daggers total, and I was the only one who knew how to use one. Only my aunt knew of my excursions out beyond Helgen's gates.

She threw up her hands in exasperation, but made no move to bring me inside. I knew why. She was just as curious as me. Well, curiosity killed the Breton(s).

The blue eyed Nord wearing those filthy dirt stained rags started toward the executioner. I felt a twinge of sadness, then a twinge of guilt. Sadness because such a handsome man was about to be killed. Guilt because I thought of him like that. Ah, I was but a young woman. I was allowed thoughts like that. It was what young women did. Court men.

He had his head on the box, his neck in full view of everyone, when an unearthly howling shook the air. I tilted my head back, frowning, the same question coming to my lips as was being asked all around. "What was that?"

My aunt was frowning, too, gazing at the sky. The executioner shifted the ax in his hands, just about to swing it toward the Nord. The Nord's eyes were misted over. He had already accepted his fate. How can one accept their own deaths and not feel fear? The Nord's eyes held nothing but calm acceptance. The idea of accepting death — especially by execution — was foreign to me.

My eyes widened and I gasped. I had just seen a black shape... flying in the sky. Could it be... ?

The ax's blade flew toward the Nord. And then it happened. A monster landed on the tower behind the executioner and roared, it's wings flapping ominously. Fire exploded from its mouth and I screamed. I wasn't the only one.

I didn't notice the fact the Nord had slipped away. I had eyes only for the beast that was now tearing up houses and eating people. It was huge, with obsidian colored scales and jagged horns jutting out from it's forehead. It's eyes glowed an evil red, one that surveyed Helgen with an unmerciful glare. And it's wings... It simply wouldn't be...

I snapped out of my trance and leaped up, my hand grabbing for my bow. My hand soared upward as I summoned a Fire Atronach before stringing a steel arrow. I let the arrow loose, but I missed. I cursed and ducked behind a wooden pole as the creature — I refused to think the word... dragon — opened its mouth and I staggered. I heard my aunt scream, and fire soared over me. I threw myself flat on the ground and leaped upright again. I fired more arrows, shouting insults and curses. The creature — It couldn't be a dragon... Please say it's not a dragon... — shot more fire. Then it soared behind a cloud. I frowned, scanning the sky. I readied an arrow and pulled the string taut. "Where are you?" I muttered, searching the skies. Everything was on fire, and people were screaming and running around. The soldiers were firing arrows into the sky, and mages were using fireballs.

My mind briefly registered the fact that my family's house was on fire. I screamed and barreled towards it, only to have the winged creature hover above the burning building, leering at me. "_Dir, joor_!" He cried, his words echoing around. I hastily nocked a random arrow and fired, unaware that its words had meaning.

The dragon opened its maw and fire streamed out. I rolled away and cursed vehemently as my bow was jerked out of my hands. An Imperial soldier raced past me, crying, "Get to safety, citizen!" He brandished his sword at the dragon as I cowered behind a rock, struggling to process what was happening. There was no such thing as dragons! But the proof that said otherwise was currently razing Helgen.

The soldier was shaking so badly his sword tip was wobbling. If a dragon could laugh, this one just did. His head shot downwards in a blur of black terror and there was nothing left of the soldier but a pool of blood and a sword. The dragon took to the air again, circling Helgen and breathing fire at the panicking people. I lunged over to where my bow sat, flames licking the wood. I cursed as I pulled my hand close to myself, unable to stick it into the fire. The flames wouldn't eat my bow for a while yet. It was frost-enchanted. I looked around and saw the Imperial Legion soldier's sword. I grabbed it and winced, muttering, "Gods rest your soul."

And then I proceeded to sticking the sword in the fire, dragging my bow towards me. I then wrapped my fingers around the bow and leaped up, casting wide eyes around, searching the skies. The Legion was doing horribly against the dragon. The soldiers weren't against just the beast, but against their own fear and panic.

I cried out as I saw the burning house, and deep down I was desperately hoping that some of my family would still be alive. Please, gods...

I pelted towards where the dragon was, desperate to slay it before it wrecked any more damage. Or worse, called some friends. One dragon was bad enough. But then a thought occurred to me. Was the dragon allied with the Stormcloaks? What better time for it to come than at Ulfric's supposed execution? And I had just seen it eat an Imperial man with my own eyes.

The dragon roared as a Stormcloak and two Imperials fought together against him, their differences set aside for the moment. "_Dir, mal joorre_." A flaming rock fell on all three of them, killing them all instantly. My heart caught in my throat. My theory about the Stormcloaks and the dragon just flew out the window.

I silently shot an elven arrow towards the dragon. He roared in pain and fury as my arrow found its mark, tearing a small whole in his wings. Streaks of silver frost magic threaded its way through the thin membrane, and I cried, "Die, beast!" The dragon swung it's head around and examined me, it's red eyes narrowed. My heart started to beat faster and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I shot another arrow, but it just glanced off his scales.

The dragon cackled. "_Him dinok_—"

I cut him off, shouting, "If you're going to say something, at least do it in a language I can understand!"

If a dragon could look surprised, he just did. He took to the air again, once again using the clouds as cover. I spat, "Coward."

More warily, I turned in slow circles, gazing upward. Where was that dragon?

The ground shook and I whirled around. The beast was on the ground. I fired some more and it's huge jagged black head swung toward me. My eyes widened with fear, and I knew that the last thing I would see was that dragon's yellowing teeth.

It's head snapped toward me and grabbed me like a dog does to a doll. Pain exploded everywhere, and tears came to my eyes. I didn't die instantly. By an incredible stroke of luck, the dragon's long teeth punctured my skin a hairs breath away from anything important. It threw my aside like I was unimportant and proceeded to continue ransacking Helgen... My home.

I lay there, my whole body numb. Everything I saw was red... My vision swam as I realized that was my own blood. _Well..._ I thought. _I guess I'm going to die here... bleeding my life out._

A harassed looking healer ran up to me, healed me, and ran off. I frowned, thinking, _He must be running around healing random people_. Then I fell unconscious.

* * *

I remember strong hands picking me up, and I stirred slightly. My whole body was on fire, the pain making me weak. I could barely remember my own name, much less where I was. A voice hissed, "She's still alive!"

And a deeper, male voice answered, "She looks strong."

A female replied, sounding incredulous, "She's Breton."

Another voice chimed in, "Yes, but we need mages."

The female voice snapped, "Strong? She's half-dead!"

The male replied, his voice acquiring the force of rank, "We have healers. Can you heal her?"

The first voice that had spoken — male — replied quickly, "Of course."

My eyes flitted open, but everything was outlined in shadow. I could see a Dunmer — dark elf — woman wearing leather armor looking at me. The person carrying me was a brown haired Nord wearing fur armor.

I then sank back into the ocean of unconsciousness, and remembered no more.

**First multi-chap story. And I'm sorry to say that I update incredibly slowly. That has to do with the fact that I have 50+ stories (only one or two that are finished, and 40+ plus are non-fanfiction). So . . . yeah. I have issues with sticking to one project and finishing it. So please don't ask me to update soon unless I haven't updated in more than a week (or two). And, if I haven't, then I am very sorry in advance (cause I'm fairly sure I won't update once a week). I have the beginning of this story already written out. So, they should come out faster. I guess what I'm trying to say is: If I haven't updated in forever, don't give up on the story, cause I'll probably update sooner or later. **

**So this is the first fanfiction I've ever written. Hope it's alright. Please point out any mistakes I made. Reviews are chocolate, constructive criticism is roast duck, and flames are broccoli.**

**PS: I want a new title for this story, because I don't like the current one. Ideas?**


	2. The Joys of Being a Bandit

The next thing I knew, I woke on a cot in Helgen's keep. I frowned, my eyes opening. I tried to sit up, but hands pushed me back down. I didn't need that. A wave of dizziness washed through my head, and I almost threw up. I rolled over, forcing myself to not think about being sick. My eyes focused on a female Dunmer, her back, straight shoulders thrown back, and chin raised.

"Where— where am I?" I asked, and then instantly remembered. "Helgen... A dragon attacked... I have to help..." I was forced to stop talking as a fit of coughing took me.

A man's voice said somewhere above me, "Woah, there. Calm down. There isn't much else you can do for Helgen, now. It's empty. Except for us. The dragon killed pretty much everybody. Except you."

I stopped coughing and looked up, lying on my back now. It was the Nord who was picked me up earlier. "Why not me?" I could've sworn I was dead. The dragon had grabbed me, right?

The Dunmer said, her voice low, "We found you on the ground lying amid the fire. Nearly all your flesh was burnt off. But our healer did some of his magic on you..." She turned to the Nord. "You sure he did it right?" Strange. The Elf had a Nordic accent.

I frowned. Everything was still a little fuzzy. I tried sitting up again and immediately lay back down as the room spun. Someone's hand pressed against the back of my neck, gently helping my into a sitting position. Hands gently pressed a cup against my lips. I drank gratefully and pulled away when I was done. I propped myself against the wall and waited for everything to stop spinning. I looked back at the Nord, who put my cup on a table. "_Why_ did you save me?" My voice was weak.

He shrugged, and replied, "We need more mages. Frankly, we have too many archers." The Dunmer made a snorting sound and tried to hit the Nord with her bow, lips curving into a smile. He ducked, laughing.

I blinked rapidly, trying to force down the sudden feeling of queasiness. "I can use a bow... Wait." Only now did it dawn on me, the reality of things settling in. "Helgen is abandoned. I heard... some soldiers telling us to retreat. Then why are we in her keep?" My frown deepened. "I... Are you saying you're a group? A—"

The Dunmer stood, brushing off her armor, sniffing in disdain. "Yes. We are bandits, some would say. And we've taken over Helgen."

I shuddered and tried to stand, my mind not really processing what was happening. The Nord pushed me back down. "You've sustained a lot of injuries. Magic can only heal so much."

I nodded and clapped my hands to my mouth. That was it. I threw up on the floor, shaking. If Helgen was gone, my family was _dead_. The Dunmer swore and leaped up before walking out of the room. It was too much for me now. I passed out again. The last thing I heard was a deep sigh from the Nord and his voice. "Miliah will come around."

* * *

I awoke again a couple hours later. The Nord was still there; he smiled at me. I was numb all over, and my brain was having a hard time catching up with all the events that were going on. A small part of me still believed this was all just a dream. The Nord held out his hand, but I was too weak to grab it. He seemed to realize this and quickly withdrew it, blushing slightly. "I'm Fjordel the Fierce."

I hesitantly smiled. Strange how odd it felt to smile after what had just happened. "Eveleigh Pure-Arrow."

He laughed. I liked his laugh. It was whole and hearty, forcing all my worries away. "Pure-Arrow, eh? So then you _are_ a mage. And an archer?"

I nodded and stopped quickly. However, my head didn't swim like before. Fjordel grinned at me, revealing slightly yellow teeth. "Good, good. Very useful, then."

I frowned at that. "I'm good with a bow and Conjuration. I'm fair with one-handed weapons and daggers, but horrible with two-handed."

He nodded. "Good, good." He spoon fed me some odd tasting substance after that, putting more in my mouth whenever I tried to talk, despite me blushing furiously. _I can feed myself, I wanted to say_, but already my eyes were heavy.

* * *

The next day, the Dunmer came back with another male Nord. The new Nord had slightly white hair, but his face was clear of lines. He was young, definitely young. He leaned over and lay his hands on my chest.

The Dunmer glared at him and smacked him on the shoulder. "You said physical contact wasn't necessary to heal!"

He winked at me and I blushed, trying to knock his hand off. He said in a careless tone to the elf, "Ah, sweet Miliah. Physical contact makes everything better." He caressed my cheek and winked cheekily at me. My cheeks became even more red.

The elf, who I assumed was Miliah, slapped him before gently wrapping her fingers around his neck. He gasped, "Too close!"

She laughed before releasing him. He drew his hands away from me, and proceeded to start healing. I smiled thankfully at Miliah, but she ignored me, choosing instead to glare at the healer. He healed me quickly, perhaps quicker than he should have, half-focused on the elven woman. My head cleared and the throbbing in the back of my skull faded slightly. The Nord slumped against my cot, and Miliah lunged forward to grab him. "Raerfi!"

His face was suddenly white. I knew the symptoms. They had happened to me far too often. Too much magical use in too little time. I leaped off the cot, and gasped at the sudden pain in my side. However, I pushed that aside and grabbed at my waist. My pouch was gone.

The healer, Raerfi, started to shake controllably while Miliah gasped, "Raerfi! Curse you, answer me!"

I looked around frantically, my eyes searching for the thing that could possibly save his life.

Miliah looked close to tears, frantically gasping, "Raerfi, curse you! Ice-Healer or aren't you?" She grabbed his shoulders as he went limp.

I lunged toward the the chest by the wall and wrestled it open. Frantically rummaging around inside, I spotted it. A little blue bottle. I grabbed it and threw it to Miliah. She caught it and, without a single question, unstoppered it and forced the contents down Raerfi's throat. It was a restore magicka potion. It boosts your lifeblood, restoring your energy. The color returned to his face and he whispered, voice hoarse, "Aww, Miliah, you worried for me."

I relaxed and gasped as pain lanced through my leg. I groaned and limped back to the cot.

I was trying to ignore the scene before me in which was unfolding before me. Raerfi was fervently kissing Miliah, and I hesitated, having half a mind to interrupt. The door creaked open and Fjordel walked in, holding a loaf of bread. He stared at the commotion on the floor.

"Miliah! Raerfi!" He barked before thrusting the bread at me. I grabbed it, wincing as my leg gave another twinge.

He pulled Raerfi back — Miliah had already leaped away — and snapped, "Get a hold of yourselves!

Miliah blinked and blushed furiously. "Oh gods... I'm so sorry..." Still blushing, she raced outside.

Raerfi gave a large sigh. "I knew she'd do that eventually." He blinked, embarrassed.

I blushed still further. Fjordel ushered the healer out and looked at me. "Sorry you had to see that. They've been hinting they like each other, but... Neither of them actually made a move on with it."

I nodded numbly. "Thanks for healing me and stuff. I'd help you as an archer or mage or whatever it is you want, but I don't know who I'm helping."

Fjordel grinned at me. "I've already told you. We are bandits, but we only steal and kill if necessary."

I blinked in surprise, the realization they were bandits finally settling in. "That means... You took over Helgen!"

He nodded grimly. "It's an easy fortress to defend."

I glared at him. "This is my home... And-"

He interrupted me. "And as you're feeling well enough to argue, I think you're well enough to help us. On your feet!" He grabbed my arm and forced me up. I gasped in pain. Fjordel snapped, "Come on, Eveleigh Pure-Arrow! Get outside!"

I scurried. As soon as I was outside, I pulled a quick healing spell over myself. It was sloppily done, but it would be enough to allow me to walk. I limped over to the stairs and soon found myself on the wall, overlooking the trail.

I felt sick as I saw burnt bodies propped up on sticks by the entrance. A voice called, "Eveleigh?"

I looked around. Miliah was walking toward me. She pulled off her hood, and her clear ruby eyes gave no hint of what had just happened between her and Raerfi. Ruby met amber as she looked at me.

I smiled tentatively. She asked, "Are you healed?"

I frowned and put my weight on my injured leg. A sharp pain raced up my side. I gasped and spat out, "No."

She frowned. "Then why are you up here?" I looked back down the wall, examining the burnt bodies. What if they were the bodies of my family?

"Fjordel."

She gave a shaky laugh. "Fjordel's tough until you get to know him."

Miliah led me back down to the keep. Thankfully, Fjordel was gone. She explained, "We have been trying to rebuild to the city, but the dragon destroyed almost everything." She walked out, and I frowned. So they were rebuilding the city. I sat down on the cot and started crying. All my family was dead. I was an orphan, recruited into a bandits' gang. What was I going to do?

A couple days later, I was finally healed. I became close friends with Miliah, Raerfi, — although being in the same room with the two of them was unbearable — Fjordel, an Imperial mage called Celile, and a Nord warrior called Djotl. The actual gang had at least ten people, all led by Fjordel.

I relaxed one night against Fjordel, my head on his shoulder. I bit into a slice of charred skeever meat, thankful that Miliah was a decent cook. Raerfi somehow managed to make sweet rolls sour and Fjordel couldn't cook to save his life. In fact, out of all the bandits, only Miliah and Celile were able to make something edible.

We all sat in one of the repaired buildings, laughing and eating. Of course, there were four scouts on guard, freezing their ears off. Woe to any man or woman who thinks they can best the bandits at Helgen. Celile and I had planted a countless array of traps around the fort, some more sneaky than others, but all equally dangerous. The ones that didn't kill would alert the rest of us bandits.

At first, I hadn't liked being a bandit. But I quickly found out that the people in Helgen were nice. Just because they were bandits didn't mean they were bad people.

We even had honor, to an extent. See, there I go again. Calling us we. Because we _are_ something like a family. Everyone here is an orphan.

Celile's parents were killed by some bandits when they were traveling, and Fjordel picked her up. She had been against the idea of becoming a bandit, but quickly fell in love with our way of life. Djotl never knew his parents. But, when they were younger, Fjordel and him had been the best of friends. Miliah had lived her whole life in Skyrim. She's never been to Morrowind and never wants to go.

She's happy here in the land of snow. She used to live in Windhelm, but the racist Nords and their cruelty eventually drove her away. She came upon our little ragtag group of bandits and joined in.

Raerfi had only known his mother, and she used to be apart of Fjordel's bandits but was killed a little while back. He doesn't like to mention her much. And I'd been right about him being young. He was only twenty-one.

I gently stroked Fjordel's cheek before getting up and moving closer to the fire. Our relationship was slightly closer than friends, but I liked him. He was funny, and could make me laugh. When I was with him, I felt safe.

A young female Nord — called Warbler for her singing abilities and because no one knows her real name — was singing Ragnar the Red while dancing at the same time, her pale blond hair flying about her like a sheet of silver. I clapped when she finished. Her blue eyes were bright as she slid down next to me, grabbing some bread. Celile leaned over and teased, "Nice song, Warb. But next time you should sing just a tad quieter so I can sleep."

I rolled my eyes. "You weren't sleeping, Imperial." Racial pokes were common, but it was all meant in jest. We were all friends here.

Warbler smirked, her lips curving. "Celile, next time _you_—"

She quieted, cocking her head. And then I heard it. The slight blowing of a horn. I froze and sprinted outside, quickly followed by everyone else. The gates to Helgen — so heavily guarded by us — were open, and I could see a wagon on its side. I moved closer, stringing my bow.

The guards we had set were surrounding the wagon. The horse was already dead. A Khajiit was sobbing, "Don't hurt Dar'ork, please. Let him go..."

I pulled the bowstring taut, my fingers running along the steel arrow's feathers.

Fjordel pointed at the wagon and then at me. I nodded and advanced. The Khajiit was whimpering on the ground, his ears flat against his head. I pushed the arrow's point against his nose and demanded, "What's in the wagon?"

"Nothing... Nothing at all!" he replied, sounding rather panicked. "This one swears... on his life..."

Miliah walked over and, with the help of another Nord, cracked open one of the barrels in the wagon.

"No, please..." The Khajiit moaned.

Miliah looked inside the barrel and frowned. "It's just... some kind of herb."

Raerfi moved over and looked inside. "Nirnroot, frost mirriam, and dragon tongue."

I frowned at the Khajiit, who was shaking with terror. Why wouldn't he want us to look at some herbs?

Miliah and the Nord cracked open another barrel. The Nord cackled in delight. "Jackpot."

Miliah dipped her hands in. When she pulled them out, they were overflowing with shiny round golden coins. My eyes widened with delight. "Nice," I murmured. I turned my gaze back to the Khajiit's, whose eyes were wide with terror, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end.

There was a thud from the last barrel. We all froze and looked over. Miliah nocked an arrow, frowning. The Nord cracked open the barrel with his axe.

The Khajiit looked at me and pleaded, "Please, pretty Breton, let Dar'ork go... You may kill her. Please, beautiful, merciful Breton, a life for a life..." I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. There was a her in the wagon?

Out of the barrel spilled a young girl with brown-red hair. I turned and stared stared. The other bandits started muttering amongst themselves.

I turned back to the Khajiit and spat, "Cough up, cat. Why is there a child in your wagon?" Did he seriously think we would kill the child and let him go? What kind of sick thing was this cat?

Miliah opened the chest with her lock picks, revealing a fair amount of moon sugar and skooma. I laughed coldly. "Illegal smuggling, eh?" The Khajiit had officially lost any respect I had had for him (which had been a pretty meager amount) when he'd offered the child as his sacrifice.

He whimpered. I shot him through the skull with an arrow, fed up with his cowardly actions. The young girl started crying. Miliah looked uncertainly at her, as we had never caught a child before. All the bandits had backed up, delighted with the gold we had found, yet uncertain what to do with this girl.

I dropped the bow and walked over to the girl. I instinctively knew what to do. "There, there." I whispered gently dragging the girl over to me. She looked at me, frightened, but when I started stroking her back she broke down and started crying harder. I smiled at her, whispering gently, doing everything within my power to calm her. It was working.

Fjordel kneeled by me and asked, "What do we do with her?" He stroked my hair and I smiled at him before turning back to the girl. She was Nord, like Fjordel.

"Hush now. Where are you from?" I asked softly.

She looked at me and I wiped her eyes with the back of my hand. It was hard hugging her when I was wearing armor. Why had I worn steel today? 'Be prepared for everything." That was what Fjordel had said, anyways.

She whimpered, "Windhelm. My pa is a Stormcloak." I nodded slowly before looking at Fjordel. He was so close... I could feel his breath on my neck. "Can we spare anyone to take her to Windhelm?"

He frowned. "I don't know. Maybe Ordin?" I nodded. I gave the girl some of the gold that we had found, helped Miliah roll our loot over to the keep, and got a new horse for the wagon. Ordin was grumbling, but the girl happily went with him to Windhelm, thanking us all the while.

She even hugged me.

I took a deep breath and looked at Fjordel. "That went rather nicely." He nodded and shouted to the other bandits, "Back to your posts!"

Miliah started shepherding everyone back, but Fjordel looped his hand around my waist and began leading me back toward the recently-rebuilt building we slept in. He whispered in my ear, "I think you have a way with children."

I shrugged and draped my hair over one shoulder, absentmindedly playing with the strands. "I don't really talk to children much."

"Yes, Eveleigh. But that could change." He had stopped walking now, and I turned to look at him.

His eyes were wide and sincere. They were dark blue. "What do you mean?" I breathed, suddenly uncomfortable.

"You could talk to our child."

My eyes widened. "What?" What happened to _just_-more-than-friendship?

Fjordel looked at me, his eyes deadly serious. "I love you, Eveleigh. You know that."

I nodded slowly. We had been dancing around eachother the last couple days. But was Fjordel in love with me? The true Eveleigh? The archer, the Conjurer, the woman? Or was he simply in love with my beauty? My auburn hair, my amber eyes, my form? He grabbed me and held me against him. Could he feel my heart? Beating as fast as it was?

I'd never been in love before, but my heart was beating so very fast, and my breath was fluttering in my chest, and, gods, my body felt so hot all of a sudden.

"Fjordel..." My voice was nothing more than a whisper on the wind. I tried to say something else, but my voice caught in my throat.

Instead of answering, he drew me even closer to me, cupping the back of my head with a hand. "Eveleigh," was his reply.

And I tilted my head back — why in Kynareth's name did Bretons have to be naturally short? — and looked deep into his eyes, his dark blue eyes.

He pulled me up gently, so I was on the tips of my toes, and pressed his lips against mine. I had never kissed anyone before, not like this. I had heard stories of the world stopping and everything else fading away. But that didn't happen. All that happened was Fjordel working his lips around mine. I pressed myself closer against him, if that was even possible, and my heart rate soared to a speed I hadn't thought possible.

He pulled away first, and I met his eyes, my own amber eyes shining. Fjordel was grinning from ear to ear, a smile that reach his eyes. "I love you, Eveleigh," he breathed.

As a response, I kissed him again. And, gods above, did it feel good.

**So, here's chapter two. Hoped you all liked it. If you found any mistakes, please tell me in that little white box over there. Kudos to anyone who can guess who the girl was? (Even if it _is_ a little obvious...) Review, please! It really makes my day! Dang it...was trying not to beg!**

**Coming next...they get visited by a certain Dovahkiin...**


	3. Dovahkiin's Choice

**I'd just like to say thanks to Madgormley for reviewing!**

A week after that kiss, and my life drastically changed. Fjordel, when around others, still treated me like any other bandit, but when we were alone... I was his, and he was mine. Miliah had noted the change in both of us. Even Celile, who was normally blind to any and all romance, was aware of Fjordel's and my relationship. Raerfi told me I was happier, more buoyant.

Celile didn't even want to hear about our relationship, but Warbler eagerly teased us.

"Pure-Arrow!" I could recognize the bard's smooth cadence anywhere. I had been dusting the main sleeping rooms with a rag. The blond Nord came in, her smirk telling me everything. I blinked warily. "What do you want, Warbler?"

The pretty Nord shrugged, her blue-green eyes glowing. "Raerfi wants to know how much control of the arcane arts you have."

I raised a single slim brow. And here I'd thought she was here to tease me. I would never hear the end of this! Fjordel courting me? Djotl had told me that Fjordel had never showed a romantic interest in any of the recruits of before. Ever. Well, wasn't I special?

"I'm pretty good when it comes to Conjuration, but I have no skills whatsoever in Illusion or Alteration—"

Warbler inturrupted me, rolling her eyes. "Don't tell me! I've got no clue about what's so fascinating about magic. Go tell Raerfi."

Right. I had forgotten the bandit-bard had absolutely no patience for magic. Didn't all Nords? I knew instantly that was false. Raerfi was a Nord, yet he was interested in magic.

I threw the rag at Warbler and told her, "You can finish dusting the room while—"

"While you go talk magic with Raerfi," the bandit-bard finished. I grinned at her. Kynareth, but I loved being a bandit. We were closer than family, and I actually got to _use_ my fighting skills!

Walking back outside into the sun, I let out a sign of relief. The camp was huge. Dusting it was quite the chore. For some reason, Warbler enjoyed doing things like that. Don't ask me why. Miliah's voice drifted over to me. "Eveleigh! Can you grab me some water?" She was on guard duty.

I raised an eyebrow and replied, "Give me ten of your best arrows." It was a decent price. Miliah was an archer, after all.

The dark elf bandit began to pick through her quiver. By now, everyone had figured out that if they wanted me to do something, they'd have to sacrifice a few arrows. More than a few, really. I ran to the small well in the center of what used to be Helgen and filled the bucket. I raced back to where Miliah stood in one of the wooden watch towers. I handed her the bucket. "Thanks, Ehva," she said, smiling, her red eyes glowing. I held out my hand expectantly. Miliah let out an exasperated sigh before giving me ten ebony arrows. "Thanks!" I stowed them in the quiver at my back before asking, "Where's Raerfi?"

Miliah shrugged. "Training rooms? I don't know. And Celile and you have to reset the bear traps around the entrance."

I nodded, making a mental note to find the Imperial later. I walked to the training rooms and threw open the door, shouting, "Is Raerfi Ice-Healer here?"

Raerfi's voice called, "Nope, but I saw him outside earlier!"

I rolled my eyes as the three other bandits in here laughed as I sprinted through the various archery targets, straw dummies, and piles of fur, searching for Helgen's elusive bandit-mage. The clacks of wooden sword against wooden sword followed me, echoing through the series of rooms. I found him in the back room, the one with the enchanting and alchemy tables, as well as the chests full of soul gems for obvious reasons, spell tomes for obvious reasons, alchemy ingredients for obvious reasons, and random daggers for practice enchanting.

Raerfi was leaning on the enchanting table, but the lack of glowing blue light meant he wasn't working magic.

"Very funny," I told him. He smirked, turning to meet my eyes, and gestured at me rather vaguely. "Is Pure-Arrow your family name?"

I shook my head. "No. It's one I chose for myself."

He nodded. "So you know magic."

I cocked an eyebrow. I hadn't been with the bandits for that long, but the time I had been here had been enough for them to get to know me well and enough for me to get to know them. "No, I only know how to bake bread." A brief silence as my glare and his smirk melted into grins. "Well, of course, I know how to do magic! I'm a Breton! Where have you been the last couple days?" I mentally ticked off all the times I'd done magic around him. A fair amount. I have a habit of summoning my wolf-familiar just for company.

The Nord held out his hands in a submissive gesture. "Calm down, Ehva! I just wanted to know: Do you do Restoration?"

I nodded, picking up a random dagger and inspecting. "Aye. I specialize in Restoration and Conjuration, the latter more than the former. I am not the best when it comes to Alteration and Illusion, but I guess I'm all right. And what Mage doesn't know Destruction?" I dropped he dagger back onto the table.

Raerfi nodded as if he was a graduate from the College of Winterhold, not a twenty year old bandit who had learned his magic from his ma. "Can we go outside so you can show me what you know?"

I frowned. Raerfi and I were the only mages in Helgen, as far as I knew. And I knew every bandit here. "Why?"

He sighed in that immature way of his. He was childish sometimes, but in a good way. But he was loyal through and through. But I still had no idea what on _Nirn_ Miliah saw in him. "Because," he stressed the word, "Eveleigh, it's very stressing, tiring, exhausting, etc. being the only healer this group's got. And, if you have the skills, I could teach you more." I nodded hesitantly, chewing the inside of my cheek. It was a habit I'd always had.

And so that was how I ended up standing in one of the open areas of Helgen. A large circle had been drawn in the dirt and Raerfi and I were standing in opposite ends. Raerfi said, "Summon the most powerful Atronach you can."

I raised an eyebrow. "Powerful how? Long range attacks, close range fighter, powerful spells...?" I trailed off, grinning.

Raerfi grimaced, and I laughed playfully. "Let's pretend a dragon attacks. Which will you summon?"

I winced, remembering all too well the last time a dragon had attacked Helgen. Not trusting myself to speak, I closed my eyes and, with an enormous amount of concentration, I summoned a portal from Oblivion. A Fire Atronach stepped out, because they were immune to fire. And dragons breathe fire. Right?

She hovered gracefully just above the ground, examining her surroundings with disinterest. Raerfi nodded. "Very good. Can you conjure a weapon?"

I shot him an exasperated look. "Don't insult me." I closed my eyes and focused again, imagining the weapon I use most. A bow summoned straight from Oblivion appeared in my hands, glowing with a deadly ethereal glow. I smirked.

Raerfi quickly summoned an Ice Atronach, saying, "Good job. Now kill the Atronach with Destruction spells."

I banished both the bow and my Atronach, aware that Fjordel had come out of wherever he'd been hiding and was watching. He shouted, "Keep your eyes on the road!" I cast a quick look around and saw the only guards placed on watch — Miliah and Djotl — look sheepishly back to where they were supposed to be looking, and not at this display of magic. The Ice Atronach advanced, and I hastily darted backwards, warming up a fireball in my hands. The Atronach swung. I ducked and launched the fireball at it. I expected it to stagger. I didn't expect it to vanish in an explosion of purple sparks. I straightened and glanced at the Nord mage. "How'd I do?"

He just nodded, as if he _hadn't_ just conjured a faulty Atronach. "Well."

I smiled. "But don't you dare test me on Illusion or Alteration. I only go up to adept in the latter and apprentice in the former."

Raerfi nodded obligingly. "Can you heal me?"

I raised my eyebrows, wondering why this little "test" was so random. "You're not hurt."

Raerfi drew a nice and slashed it across his palm. I yelped aloud, leaping towards him. "That wasn't necessary!"

I sunk into my magicka, and everything acquired a light blue tinge in my eyesight. I found the cut on Raerfi's hand easily, imagining the skin knitting itself back together. Soft yellow strands of magic began to weave its way around Raerfi's palm, and I was almost finished healing when something happened that knocked everyone clean off their feet. The ground rumbled and shook as a great, awe-inspiring booming voice rolled across Skyrim. The words — almost nothing more than thunder — could barely be made out. "_Dov Ah Kiin!_"

I froze, jerked out of my magical state, my healing forgotten. Raerfi's jaw dropped and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Despite being on guard, Miliah was racing towards us, bow strung and in hand. "What in Zenithar's name was that?" she demanded, her crimson eyes wide with shock.

Fjordel was on his feet, his hand on my shoulder. I looked at him, my heart thudding. He shook his head and muttered, "By Talos... I don't even know what to say..."

Raerfi whispered, awestruck, "The Greybeards are calling someone to High Hrothgar." Excitement glittered in his eyes. I took a step backwards, closing my mouth.

Despite being a Dunmer, Miliah had been raised in Skyrim. Skyrim was all she had ever known, much like me. So she whispered, "Dovahkiin?"

I bit my lip. "Someone care to translate?" It couldn't mean...

Fjordel shifted his feet awkwardly. "I'm not entirely sure of the translation, but doesn't the dov— whatever the Greybeards said have to do with the legends of the—"

Raerfi interrupted, and if his eyes could've gotten any wider, they would have right now. "Dragonborn."

Miliah's crimson eyes were as wide as day. My mouth dropped. Again. "But it's just a legend!"

Fjordel took a deep breath. "Apparently it's not. Miliah, return to your post. Eveleigh, get Warbler. I want the two of you assigned on watch."

I nodded and quickly finished healing Raerfi's self-inflicted wound before starting off. Before I could get more than two steps, however, a heavy hand fell onto my shoulder. I half-turned, seeing Fjordel's dark blue eyes. "Yes?" I asked, wondering how I was going to break the news to the bandit-bard.

"Be careful. We don't know what the return of the Dragonborn means for bandits like us."

I nodded mutely, my eyes grave. The Dragonborn was a Nord hero, right? And bandits were Nord pests. Well, that was just brilliant.

I sincerely hoped we would be fine.

* * *

It has been weeks since the incident with the Greybeards, and I still hadn't given Fjordel the child he so desperately wanted. I promised him I would eventually, but we were busy. Helgen was often attacked by other bandits, heroes trying to gather fame and glory, and adventurers seeking gold. Of course they wanted Helgen! The city where the dragon attacked!

I had my hands full, healing all of the bandits that were injured in protecting the place. Of course, Raerfi helped. He was the one who taught me more healing spells, and I was a quick learner.

Miliah and I hunted often together, and no beast of the wild could escape our arrows. We had killed all manner of beast. Wolves, rabbits, saber cats, rabbits, mammoths, you name it, we've killed it. Except for bears. I hate bears. Am never going near one of those beasts.

Fjordel brought me to his bed every night, but I refused to sleep until he let me out. I was no longer too young to be married, and my time was running out. The other male bandits were full of ideas, and only the thought of Fjordel's wrath protected me.

It didn't stop them from trying to woo me, but it never went beyond that. Sometimes I wish I wasn't as beautiful as I was.

Last night, when Fjordel brought me to his bed, I didn't refuse. I'd had a tiring day, running around with Celile to set up and re-set up traps. We'd spent most of the day trying to think of new ones, and some of them were pretty far fetched.

So I'd slept next to him. But I hadn't slept with him. I knew he thought I was just teasing, but he was ecstatic that he'd gotten further than before.

Fjordel had his own little sleeping quarters, and I hadn't wanted to sleep with the noise of the others. I'd been tired.

But the night after that... Oh, that had been one to remember. I'd been restless that day, and so when he brought me to his bed... I didn't refuse. At all. I consented, but I'd been nervous, naturally. After all, I'd never bedded anyone before. Nobody. And I know that the others had heard Fjordel and I, because they'd all shared the same ridiculous smile that morning when I'd come to breakfast.

Warbler had even asked me, "So. How much sleep did you get last night?"

And I had just grinned at her. "No idea!" And then I'd just grinned and kissed the man I loved.

* * *

I stood from where I sat. I was on guard duty right now, feeling grumpy in the hot sun, standing on the wall of Helgen. It was several weeks after the Greybeard's summons. Propped in front of me were five baskets, each overstuffed with arrows.

To my delight, I saw a lone Nord approaching on horseback. I didn't bother sounding the alarm. It was one Nord. Glad the boredom was over, I picked up my bow from where it was propped against one of the baskets.

My fingers dipped downward and I drew an Orcish arrow out of one basket. It wasn't as fast as an Ebony arrow. Nor did it pierce armor as easily as the Elvish arrow. But it was jagged and the edges were barbed. He dismounted the horse and stepped over the tripwire which would have showered burning oil on him. I shrugged. The oil trap had been my idea, but I'd needed Celile's bright mind to help set it up.

Apparently this Nord was a notch above the usual fools who came this way. That was good. I'd hate for this to be an easy kill. A cold smile touched my lips, one that I hadn't even known existed before the dragon attack. Being a bandit had frozen bits of my heart, so that I could kill without feeling.

Sure I'd killed before my bandit life, but fighting other humans was so different from killing deer.

I strung the arrow, my frost enchanted hunting bow delighted to find I was about to kill. Breathing out slowly, my fingers loosed, the arrow zooming toward the adventurer. He leaped forward, at just the right moment, and my arrow missed, killing the horse instantly. The next thing I knew, his arrow was flying toward me. I didn't dodge.

I wouldn't have enough time. Instead, I loosed my already strung arrow as his arrow pierced my flesh with a dull thunk and an explosion of pain. I didn't see where my arrow went. I was just about to pull a healing spell on myself when I fell. My head hit the wood so hard I saw nothing but stars for a moment. When my eyes cleared, I saw a Nord bandit fall, shot by an arrow. I cursed mentally, struggling to get up. But I couldn't. I swore again, but was unable to voice it. Paralysis poison.

The arrow in my side hurt, and hitting the wood as hard as I had really didn't help. And I couldn't change my position to get more comfortable.

Only my eyes moved, and I felt sick as I watched this single Nord shooting all the guards. They fell soundlessly. It was only when one guard was left did he think to sound the alarm. He blew his horn, and the other bandits came racing out of the keep. I watched as this Nord slung his bow over his back, and drew a sword.

The adventurer attacked, and my eyes widened as his sword dipped and swung, leaving a bloody trail behind him. He fought as if it was a dance, a game, and horror filled me as no bandit could stand against him.

Warbler, Djotl, Celile, and so many others fell. Even Fjordel.

Panick was starting to overwhelm me. This man was alone. How had he done it? Horror started growing in me. There were fighting sounds, but the fighting was out of my sight. _Please, gods,_ I thought, _Let someone survive._

Finally, he climbed up the wooden ladder so he stood over me, about to plunge his grisly Orcish sword into my heart. The poison still hadn't worn out yet, and the pain in my side had faded to a dull ache. But then the Nord smiled at me.

The paralysis finally wore out and I lunged at him, drawing the steel dagger at my waist, screeching in anger, forcing my eyes into his oddly familiar blue ones, lest I see the bodies of— I cut myself off.

Pain seared through my body, but the Nord simply caught my wrist, squeezing until I dropped the dagger. Hate filled my eyes, and I shuddered, feeling a warm sticky feeling from the general direction of where the arrow had been.

He said, voice oddly calm and and conserved, "Drop the weapons."

Pain was making me light-headed, and my left hand fell limp as my bow clattered at my feet.

"Good. Now—"

I lunged at him again, flames dancing in my empty hand. But he ducked and pulled my right arm — which he was still holding, I realized dimly — hard so that I flew over his back. I landed with a thud, and bit back a cry of pain.

I was blinded by my need to kill him. Rolling me over so that I was on my stomach, he pressed his metal boot to my my back, between my shoulder blades. He obviously hadn't intended to press hard enough for it to hurt, but pain exploded through my body, what with my (new) bruises and the arrow wound.

"Do you surrender?" he asked, cooly.

Struggling to keep back tears, I managed, "Just kill me, you cold-hearted bastard! You didn't have a problem killing the others!"

He pressed his foot further into my back, and tears began to streak my face. Gods curse my measly fur armor. Gods curse this man! "I—"

Blackness threatened the edge of my vision, and I coughed, "Just do it!" And then I lost all consciousness I had been struggling to keep, and the world turned dark.

**Yes, I know that this Dragonborn is the stereotypical Dragonborn. Yes, I know I could've been more creative. But after I'd created him as a placeholder, I got attached to him. Please review! And if anyone has any ideas for a new title, go ahead and holler.**


	4. Locked in the Breeze

My eyes fluttered open. I was in a small room, lying on a bed. The bed wasn't comfortable at all, because the straw had forced its way through the furs, poking me in the back. I felt extremely dizzy, and I wondered where Raerfi was. He was supposed to heal me. Then my eyes focused on what was in front of me. A Nord was sitting on a chair, watching me. He had pale skin and fair hair, his light blue eyes watching me. "Well. You're finally awake." His eyes were worried, his hands clasped, as he slouched over the chair.

I frowned. We were in a building. It wasn't like anything at Helgen... Helgen! A Nord had attacked and...

My eyes moved slowly to the Nord. Recognition flared in my eyes just as dismay did in his.

With a cry, I tried to get up, wanting nothing more than to beat him into a pulp. But I couldn't, I realized with a jolt of panic. I couldn't even move my arm. Had he paralyzed me again? No. I was just dizzy. Dizzy and weak. Why? Then the pain in my side reminded me of the arrow wound, and the aching in my head reminded me of how hard I had hit it. And my wrist ached, and I could still feel his gauntleted fingers around it.

I asked, my voice thick, "Why did you bring me here? Why couldn't you have just left me to die?" I wanted to die, to join Fjordel and the others in wherever they had gone. I know the Fjordel believed in Sovngarde, but I can't say I would go there. I wasn't a Nord hero.

He sighed heavily. "I fell victim to your beauty."

I cursed my beauty. Raerfi wouldn't heal me. He was dead. I glared at the Nord in front of me, wishing he would drop dead on the spot. "May I at least know who killed my friends, my lover, and my family?" I didn't mention they were my adopted family.

The Nord looked me in the eye and said, almost apologetically, "My name is Alfrid the Steel-Hearted. I'm the Dr— uh, Thane of Whiterun."

I stared before sinking deeper into the bed. How had a Thane managed to kill the Helgen bandits? Weren't Thanes supposed to be soft? And weren't their Housecarls supposed to do all the work?

What had I done to deserve this?

CHe hesitated before continuing, "This is Breezehome, in Whiterun. Whiterun is a little ways north of Helgen. You should like it here." _What_? He expected me to _live_ here?

I pulled a healing spell over me, clearing my head before sitting up. My wounds weren't hurting anymore, and had faded to a dull ache that I could easily ignore. "I should like it here? In a house where the killer of my—"

He nodded, cutting me off. "It's a nice house." His lips turned up in a hopeful smile, t it faltered when I glared at him.

Then I rolled over, purposely turning my back to him. How dare he kill all of my friends in Helgen and then propose that I _live_ here? Who does he think he is, this Alfrid Steel-Hearted? A small part of my brain answered that question. He's only Thane of a hold. Only a very important person. Only an obviously able-bodied (not to mentioned talented) warrior. Only somebody with a very nice set of armor, which he apparently wore in his own house.

With my back to him, I didn't see him leave. But I heard him. I heard the sound of metal hitting metal as the man left, his armor clinking as he went.

I sobbed and buried my head in the furs. How was it possible this Nord, this single man, had killed us all at Helgen? Any other circumstance and I would've refused to believe it. But I had watched them fall with my own eyes. _No_. I thought, repeating it over and over as if that would make them come back. _Please, gods... Don't let this be real._

I whimpered and shoved my hair out of my face. I turned so I was lying on my back, my chest heaving with sobs. Why did it have to happen?

I thought of all those that now lay dead. Fjordel the Fierce, our fearless leader, a warrior of courage, and my previous lover. Raerfi Ice-Healer, the only healer, besides me, in all of Helgen, a horrible cook but wonderful company. Miliah, an archer with flawless aim, my closest friend. Celile, my fellow trapper and simply ingenious when it came to it. Warbler, though sometimes dense, was perfectly willing to listen to anything and sing whenever she felt like it. Djotl, his jokes dull but well meant, his heart kind. The Imperial with small eyes and a crooked nose. J'elma, a young Khajiit with an eye for trouble.

I stifled another sob. Thinking about all of them only made me miserable. I pushed myself into a sitting position and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands.

When I heard the door open and close, I got up and left the room. It was a small room really, nothing more than a bed facing a small dresser.

Directly across from it was obviously the master bedroom, with a bed large enough for two people with bedside cabinets on both ends. A chest lay by the wall, and several plaques bearing weapons decorated the walls. I noticed that all the weapons were iron or steel, which was odd.

If he was Thane, shouldn't he have enough to buy fancy weapons?

I crept downstairs, not thinking for a second about how rickety the old staircase was. The stairs at Helgen had been worse. Fresh tears trickled down my cheeks as I thought of all the effort we had put into rebuilding Helgen, only to have the place torn from us. Downstairs was the hearth, crackling merrily by the front door. A cooking pot was suspended over the fire, a wooden ladle propped atop the pot. Several chairs were situated around the fire. In between the armchairs were short tables sporting mead, ale, wine and gold. After taking a peek out the window, I discovered that it was still day, but it was after noon.

Behind the staircase was another closed door and a table. The table was inconveniently pressed against the wall, so one person would have to crawl over the boxes to get to the bench by the wall. The table had several plates on it, all full of food. The shelf pressed against the wall adjacent to the table held the cups, bowls, plated and utensils needed. All were made of the finest porcelain, engraved with elaborate shapes, the blue and white matching perfectly with the colors of the actual house. I opened the closed the door directly opposite the table and peered inside. It was an alchemy laboratory, the shelf full of potions and ingredients. I peeked into one of the large sacs and found it full of more ingredients. An enchanting table had been squashed next to the alchemy one, and it had a feeling it wasn't supposed to be there, but Alfrid had put it there anyways.

Feeling guilty, I had to admit it was a nice house. My tears were dry; I had a much more pressing matter right now. I had to find my bow. The weapon rack by the fire was empty save for a single sword.

I ran back upstairs and into Alfrid's room, thinking that if he was going to keep me captive then it'd be alright to violate his privacy. I threw open the chest and looked eagerly inside. Nothing. At least, not my bow. My fingers yearned for the feel of the smooth wood, the delicate curve of my bow. I even found myself wishing for the bow's freezing cold touch, a result of the enchantment placed upon it.

I dug around in the chest, but there was nothing there other than healing potions. Nothing but a sea of pink bottles. Why did he have so many?

I cast my gaze around, and my amber eyes settled on the cabinet. It was the perfect size to hold my bow, which was slightly longer than the average hunting bow.

Running over to it, I tried to pull it open. Locked. I cursed and tugged hopefully on the handle. Nothing. I leaned down and reached automatically into my fur shoes. Except... I wasn't wearing shoes. I was barefoot. I gasped and looked down. I hadn't realized what I was wearing before.

Someone had changed my out of my fur armor — the version with the shawl and the the leather that covered my chest — and had replaced it with civilian clothes. I gasped as my hands went immediately to my chest. Had the that man changed my clothes? I refused to think about it.

Oh, Kynareth protect me from this madness. I had to get out of here.

I gave another fruitless tug on the handle. I walked back downstairs. Now that I think about it, where was Alfrid? Where was the high and mighty Thane? Of course he was outside. I marched around the fireplace, determined to demand he give me my bow back. But of course the front door was locked. I gritted my teeth and kicked the door. I winced as my toe throbbed. I sat down in the chair by the fire, my head in my hands. Who did this Alfrid think he was, imprisoning me like this?

I closed my eyes, determined to make the best of this. _He must have something that can help me down here. It's his house, after all! _ And he was a warrior. So he must have something.

I looked back at the weapon rack. I walked over and pulled the iron sword from it, my lower lip quivering. I will not mourn for the others, I thought. They would want me to keep fighting, to move on. My stomach clenched as I thought of Fjordel. The last memory I had of him was not one I liked to remember.

* * *

He had ordered me out to guard duty, and I had asked, cross, "Why do I have to do it? Raerfi hasn't in ages!" I'd already been on guard duty the whole last week! Dawn watch, too!

And he had glared at me, already annoyed because of the way Warbler had been teasing us. I knew that the bandit-bard was just having a laugh, but my lover had less patience than me. "He's our healer."

"I heal, too!" I was glaring daggers at him.

"Go. Now. Guard duty." He was also annoyed because Miliah and Raerfi kissed in public like there was no tomorrow and I refused to kiss him in front of more than two people. I do have my reputation to think of! It really didn't help that everyone knew that we were active lovers.

I had stormed away, furious, my Conjured wolf yipping at my heels. I remembered his blue eyes burning into my back, but I had refused to turn around, instead complaining to the wolf.

* * *

I sighed and looked around Alfrid's home. Wanting a familiar face around, I struggled to summon my familiar. But I was too depressed to do the spell right, and as I felt my strength draining away with nothing more than a thin blue mist to show for my efforts, I gave up and picked up the sword again.

I swung the sword around experimentally. I preferred a bow, or at least a dagger, but at least it was a weapon. Where was my armor? I looked around and instantly saw it: a pile of fur and leather on the table.

I noted its position and strode to the nearest window. Like all the windows in the Whiterun style, these were a criss-crossing of iron bars, streaking diagonally up and down the narrow window. Thin, diamond shaped pieces of colored glass connected the iron bars, creating a colorful display of the owner's money.

Alright, Fjordel, I thought grimly, This is for you. He wouldn't want me to live my life miserable. I could almost hear his voice. 'Stay calm, Ehva. Chin up.'

Tears threatened again, but I blinked them away. Taking a deep breath, I drew the sword and shoved it against the window, my arms jarring with the impact. The glass instantly gave way, but the iron held firm, sparks flying every which way. I gritted my teeth and slammed the side of the blade into the narrow window. In five minutes, the window's glass was reduced to powder by my bleeding feet, and glass littered the floor outside the window.

The iron bars refused to budge. I cursed and swiped again, wincing as another glass shard slipped and cut my feet. I looked down and hissed angrily at the sight of my bloody legs. I limped over to the table and sat down, muttering curses under my breath. I held up my hand and pulled up my sleeve.

With gentle movements, I traced my fingers just above the bleeding scratches, soft yellow strands of magic weaving its way through the bleeding scratched. The skin flowed back together, and the odd feeling of healing magic occurred.

The soothing feeling of cool water, mixed with a slight itching sensation, and the warm comfort of home. I sighed, envying all this children of Skyrim who had stable lives and true parents. But what child, now, had a stable life? The war made it near impossible for a child to grow up without being orphaned. Not just the war, now, but the _dragons_. Dragons! In Skyrim!

With a sigh, I pulled on the fur shoes from the table, but to my dismay found that my lock picks were gone. Oh, well. At least I wouldn't be bleeding all over the floor again. I hefted the iron sword back into my hand and stalked back to the window.

I broke all the windows in Breezehome without mercy or thought to what Alfrid would say. When I failed to break any of those iron bars, I went downstairs and flung the sword at the door. It bounced off and I winced, jumping back in alarm, as the sword re pounded, skidding across the kitchen table, sending plates and food flying everywhere. I left the mess on the floor and examined the door. It looked normal, but a skilled mage has placed a ward that would only effect weapons. I sighed and sat back on my feet. Alfrid the Steel-Hearted was purposely trying to imprison me here.

I sat down on the chair by the fire and started crying again, not knowing what else to do. Even if I had managed to escape Breezehome and Whiterun (which was starting to look more and more impossible), where would I go? Everyone in my family had died when that insane black dragon had attacked Helgen. All of my friends had died when a monster of a man attacked our fort. I had nowhere to go. I was alone in this world.

The door opened and I looked up to see Alfrid, looking tired but pleased. He smiled, uncertainty clear in his eyes, "How are you?"

I gave a cry of rage, tears forgotten, and leaped up, fully intending to attack him, armed only with a bottle of mead. He pointed at me, smiling sadly, and a stream of blue light, pulsing with smaller bluish silver orbs, flew at me, hitting me squarely on the chest.

Why hadn't I seen that he'd had one hand behind his back, or noticed the magic in the air? I let out a small gaspd as all emotion drained out of me, leaving me utterly cool and calm. Where had he been all this time?

For a second, I was relieved. Relieved to not feel the grief or pain. I hesitated before asking, "A Calm spell? I wouldn't've expected a Nord such as yourself to be so advanced in Illusion." My tone was neutral, and it wasn't hard to keep it that way.

He smiled at me before easing the door shut. "Only spell I know, I'm afraid."

He sat down next to me and asked, softly, "Tell me your name. I can't live with a nameless stranger, now can I?"

If I hadn't been affected by his spell, I would've been spurred to anger. However, I just lied, the Calm spell making it ridiculously easy to do so, "My name is Joanne."

He nodded slowly. "Joanne, you can sleep in either of the rooms in this house. I'll take the other one. I'm sorry for locking you in, but I'm afraid you'll run if I don't." He paused and looked at me. I nodded my confirmation. _I would've run if he hadn't locked me in._

He continued, "I know the Calm spell will wear off soon; I've never been very good at keeping people's minds under my control. So I will say this quickly. I know it's hard to believe, but I think I love you, Joanne." I saw the irony in that. He wasn't even using my real name!

Was he truly in love with me or my beauty? The answer was ridiculously _obvious_.

"Forgive me for killing your friends." He stood and walked over to the kitchen table, cleaning up the mess I had left. I watched him slowly eyeing the damage I had done, the glass that littered the floor, my blood spotting the wood. He sighed and continued cleaning.

Within seconds, his spell had worn off. But I didn't try and kill him. I just dropped the bottle of mead I was holding — it fell with a crash, sending liquid everywhere — and tip toed upstairs, crying once more.

**This is the last previously-written out chapter, so updates will be a LOT slower than before. And, like I said in C1 (I think), I'm a very slow updater. But I'll try to update soon!**

**BTW when I said that the plates were made of clay... I don't truly don't know if they are. My first thought was 'china' but I don't think here is a China in Tamriel. Or Nirn. But if it's not clay, then what is it? And sorry if the description of the house is incorrect, because I wasn't actually playing the game when writing the scene and wrote it from memory. **

**Aaaaaaand any ideas for a new story title? Or do you think that the current one is fine?**

**Thanks for reading! Review! Please! Cause I know I have more lurkers than reviewers... ;-)**


	5. Wolves and Lock Picks

**Finally, here is chapter five. Read and enjoy (or try to...)!**

* * *

In the morning, I felt horrible. Mostly because I was starving and thirsty and the ache in my side still hadn't gone away. And I'd awoken before sunrise. _Again_.

Of course I hadn't slept in Alfrid's bedroom last night. It would have been indecent. And, even if he had killed _them_, I wouldn't have made him sleep in the little room. I suspected he would have to sleep scrunched up. He was _tall_.

So when I sat up that morning, I groaned and muttered, "Kynareth, Mara, Akatosh, Stendarr, _anyone_, just tell me this is a really terrible dream."

I changed out of my night clothes and into a plain white shirt and trousers. I refused to wear a dress. Never in my life will I put one on _again_.

I did my morning things in a daze, not really caring if I woke up the esteemed Thane of Whiterun hold. It serves him right. Kidnapping a bandit and keeping her like some kind of... of... _prize_.

My lips curled in disgust as I went down the wooden stairs, determined to find something to eat while making as much of a mess as I could. For some reason, there was food everywhere downstairs. On the table, by the hearth, in the cupboards. I could pick whatever I wanted.

There were lots of vegetables and cheese. That was the first thing I noticed. After I while, I found some other things. Meat. Fish. Bread. I didn't want to cook anything, partially because I was terrible at it.

Meanwhile, I kept my back to the wall, facing the stairs. There was no way Alfrid would be able to come down without me seeing him.

Honestly, I was terrified. Terrified of what this Thane would do with me. I refused to be forced into some kind of... _whore_. Sure, he seemed decent, but anybody could seem decent!

He. Was. A. _Thane_! He had been trained to fake... _everything_! Everybody knew that court officials and whatnot were nothing but pretty lies!

When the Nord man came in, his blond hair a skeever's nest, I stood up, the bread in my hands suddenly unappetizing.

Did his eyes — which, coincidentally, were a beautiful pale blue — brighten when he saw me? Did he hastily run his hands through his hair in an attempt to straighten it?

Even if he had, I didn't care. "Let me out of here." I didn't recognize my own voice, as coated with venom as it was.

His face darkened, and I noticed how a well-made sword (it looked to be of elven make, but I wasn't sure; it wasn't the Orcish one had had stabbed me with) was buckled to his left hip. "Oh."

I swung my legs over the bench, ignoring the ache in my side, and snarled, anger pulsing through me, "Or I will tear down this house and slaughter the people in this city. You have weapons here; I could do it. You know I could." It wasn't just a stupid threat. I could do it. And I would.

I was a bandit, and a mere _Thane_ thought he could hold me prisoner in his home? Ha! There was no _way_ that I would be a good little girl and do what I'm told. No _way_! Maybe I would spare the children. Maybe their mothers. But everyone else would die.

Assuming I wasn't killed. Either way, I would be fine with it. To join Fjordel, or to continue my pointless living? It was an easy decision.

"You wouldn't be able to do it," Alfrid replied, stepping off the last step. "There are guards, and Whiterun is larger than you'd think."

"Fight or die well," I retorted, eyeing his pockets. I wondered if I could pick his pockets, get the key to the house. No. The way his pockets were made... It was almost as if he _expected_ to be robbed. Which was _totally_ normal.

"You aren't a Nord." He was inspecting the cabinet now, obviously looking for food, but he still faced me. Almost like he expected me to attack. And, frankly, I wasn't very far from that point.

"So? It doesn't matter, does it? I'm a child of Skyrim."

"A daughter of the snow."

I spat at him. "What would you know about that? About _loyalty_? About _honor_?"

Alfrid shrugged, his lips turning up wryly, as if he knew something I didn't. Gods, I wanted to smack that stupid little grin so badly... He said, his smirk widening, "More than you know."

I threw up my hands and stormed towards him. In reality, it wasn't much of a "storm", because he was only a couple steps away from me. "You are a despicable person! I don't know who you think you are, or what you could possibly want with me, but—"

Someone knocked on the door. I froze and turned my head slightly as a female voice called, "My Th—"

"Just call my Alfrid," the Nord man interrupted patiently, and I stepped away from him. Was he inviting people here to _stare_ at me? I silently made a promise to never do anything like this to _anyone_.

The female voice continued, "You said you wanted me?"

"I'll be right out," Alfrid promised, hastily stuffing food into his mouth. "See you later, Joanne."

As he went to grab a sack — which made a lot of odd clanging sounds — I snapped, completely fed-up, "My name isn't Joanne!"

With a shrug, he pointed out, "Well, I can't help it if you lie to me." I was following him now as he stuffed seemingly extraneous things into the sack.

"Well I can't help it if you kidnap me!"

The door opened, and for a single second I saw a face, and then Alfrid shoved me and I landed on the floor and the door shut and the lock clicked, leaving a very angry Breton woman alone in the house. I screamed, all of my rage and frustration melding into one inhuman noise.

I lunged forwards and peeked through one of the windows (how Alfrid had managed to fix them all overnight simply escaped me), to see the Thane talking easily to a brown-haired Nord woman.

Swearing angrily, I punched the door. Then I swore again as I shook my throbbing hand. "Let me out!" I shouted, kicking the door instead. "Augh! You are an infuriating bastard! You little—" I quieted when I saw the two of them leave Whiterun, the great gates sliding shut behind them.

I marched back to the table and sat down, struggling to calm myself as my magic started to get out of control. A fiery blue aura flickered to life around me, fueled by my anger. "Godsdammit, Eveleigh!"

Fire — of a normal orange color — burst into existence at my fingertips, and I swore, forcibly taking slow breaths. _Breathe, Ehva. In. Out. In. Out. In—_

"This isn't working!" I snapped at the bread, furious. Balls of flame formed in my palms, and, because there was no where else to aim them, I propelled them at the crackling fireplace. It did toss flaming logs all over the house (which I proceeded to blast with Frostbite), but I was not going to clean it up. Alfrid would, because nobody else would.

It was an easy way to vent my anger and to get my magic in control. The blue auric cloak fizzled out, leaving nothing more than the scent of crushed nirnroot (which is surprisingly pleasant).

When I was finished beating up the firewood (and leaving scorch marks, frozen splinters, and ashes everywhere), I looked down at my bare feet and shivered. Well. That had been interesting.

And, just because I still had magicka to burn, I summoned my familiar. With a suction-like sound, the ethereal wolf bounded into existence. Immediately, my anger drained away. "Hi."

The wolf barked and wagged his tail, trotting over to me. Scratching the crown of his head, I murmured, "Now, let's go see if we can find any lock picks. If we don't, I might just burn the furniture."

He barked in agreement. "Wolfie," I added with a grin. It was a childish name, but hey! I'd learned to summon him when I was a child!

I began to root around in the cupboard, moving around plates and cups, not caring if everything wasn't perfectly straight. It wasn't my house. It was my prison. So there was no way I was going to clean up after myself. _None_ at _all_.

Wolfie followed me, sniffing occasionally, as I pulled open drawers and rifled through a seemingly endless amount of junk. "He lives here!" I complained to the blue-magic-wolf-familiar, "He must have something I can turn into a pick!"

Wolfie just barked, and I grumbled, "Go find something! You can smell, can't you?"

When he tripped over the stairs, I laughed for what felt like the first time in forever. Abandoning my search in the kitchen, I followed the wolf upstairs as he nosed his way into Alfird's bedroom. "Ever heard of personal space, puppy?" I asked, frowning as I pushed open the door. It opened with a very large creak, and I made a mental note to oil it.

The actual room was messy, and there was a large pile of stuff on the right side of the bed. The furs on said bed were fairly neat, and weapons and clothes lay around the room on every flat surface. "I could've sworn this place was impeccable yesterday."

Stepping warily over what was on the floor, I examined the _stuff_ on the floor. There was really no other way to describe it. There was just so much . . . stuff. There were random alchemical ingredients, furs of assorted types (was that a saber cat pelt?), plates that looked even more expensive than the ones downstairs, sweet rolls (why on Nirn would he waste a perfectly good sweet roll?), a hodgepodge of armor, torn clothes, seemingly random ingots, and books of every color.

"Holy Kyne, he has _got_ to have something here to help me break out." My amber eyes were wide and round as I knelt in the pile of stuff, fingers picking through the pile. "Where on _Nirn_ does he get some of this stuff?" I demanded, holding up an ancient looking sword, with deadly looking spiky things coming off the black blade.

Wolfie was nosing through the pile across from me, every once in a while wagging his tail. I grabbed a metal boot (it had to be of Orcish make; what other race made stuff like this?) and stuffed my hand down it, fingers searching for a catch, a pocket, anything, really, where the Thane might hide a lock pick.

He was an adventurer, right? That was why he had been at Helgen, right? I winced at the thought of my home, fingers hesitating in my search. I shook myself. Where was I? Right. He was an adventurer. So he must have picks! Everyone knows that you need picks when dungeon diving; the old Nords were fond of locked doors. And who doesn't lock the doors to their most precious treasures?

After what felt like endless boots, clothes, and random pieces of armor later, I sat back on my heels, glaring at my familiar as if it was his fault I was in this predicament. "There is no way — no way — that Alfrid keeps all of his picks on him. At _all_ times. Even I don't do that!"

If wolves could shrug, Wolfie just did. He sniffed at a sweet roll, and I snapped, "You're ethereal! You can't eat things!"

I leapt up, completely fed-up, and stormed downstairs, not caring that I was kicking stuff around the Thane's bedroom. I took a deep breath, calming myself. I didn't like being angry. When mages are angry, they tend to blow stuff up. When I got upset, I tended to blow stuff up (and that's only when I'm really angry) and when I was angry, I couldn't think straight. And, besides, I was sick of being angry.

By nature, I don't stay angry long. I blinked in surprise as I found one of the windows. The sun was high in the sky, and I murmured, "It must be past midday already. Oh, Wolfie, I swear I'm going to die if this goes on any more."

The wolf's ears perked up, and he trotted to the door, barking furiously at it. The door cracked open, and Alfrid sidled in. Before either wolf or I could move, he had shut and locked it again.

He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Where'd the wolf come from?" He was wearing a very nice set of steel armor, and his sword — that same Orcish sword — was hanging at his waist.

I struggled to control my breathing. If I got angry, and at Alfrid, not an inanimate object, my familiar would attack. And that wouldn't be good. "He's my familiar. And I summoned him."

The Thane nodded dark blue eyes brightening as he tossed a sack in the general direction of the table. It hit the boxes with a lock clunk, and I realized why the house was so messy.

I perched on the edge of the table, ready to leap up and run at a moment's notice.

Alfrid grabbed an apple off a shelf and bit into it, admitting, "I'm starved. So. Where'd you learn to summon the wolf?"

I glared at him accusingly. "Why should I tell you?"

He shrugged. "Would you at least tell me your real name?"

Nothing came to mind, so I snapped, "Apple." Then I winced. Where had _that_ come from?

Alfrid's eyebrows rose several inches. "Really? What a coincidence. So am I," he said drily.

Even I cracked a smile at that. "Call me Ehva."

"Eh-vuh? Not Ee-vuh?" His voice was skeptical, and I bit back a snide remark.

"Whichever works." Then I glared at him. "Well, Alfrid? Are you going to let me out of your precious _house_ now?"

His eyes darkened again, and all emotion drained from his face. For some reason, it made him seem less... real. More like his face was chiseled from stone. "The house is called Breezehome."

My mouth opened slightly in disbelief. "You're kidding me. That's all you say?" I waved a hand in my familiar's direction, and he vanished in a puff of blue smoke.

Standing up my hands balled into fists. "I hope a dragon eats you!" Then I, being the _mature_ young woman I am, whirled around and stormed up the stairs, slamming the wooden door to my bedroom shut as hard as I could.

Pacing the small room (or as much as I was able to), I muttered, "I hope a dragon eats you, then burns your remains to— to a— augh!" My voice trailed off and I punched the bed.

There was a knock on the door, and I snarled, "What do you want, _Thane_?" It was easy, so easy, to turn his title into a curse.

A voice, low and soothing, replied, "I'm sorry I cannot let you out. I'm sorry I killed your friends. I'm sorry you're angry. But what do you want me to do?" His words were somehow both mocking and sincere.

I opened the door slightly sheepishly, feeling slightly guilty. Because I _know_ he had seen my ice-fire-and-wood mess downstairs. "I'm hungry," I declared.

Alfrid's face lit up, and I smiled inwardly. Good to know I could influence him. "Good," he said brightly, "because I just came back from the market stalls."

* * *

**So. Chapter five. And, in my opinion, it sucks. So it's okay to tell me if it does! It's shorter than normal, and the quality is horribly. But it'll have to do. And I really do think it sucks. Augh. I got a severe case of writer's block in this chapter (which has lasted for several months), and my muse did NOT want to write this story. She kept gallivanting off into the wild blue yonder to write PJO fanfics. **

**Anyways. Apparently, people think the title (Child of the Snows) is alright. But if you have suggestions, feel free to tell me in a review or just PM me. **

**And I won't be insulted if you say this chapter sucks. I will TRY to make the next better, but no promises. My muse decided she hates Eveleigh and her story right now. Thanks for ditching me, muse. **

**I'll try to update every other week (key word there being _try_) but this next week I will be going skiing, and whatnot, so not a lot of time for writing. Again, I'm really sorry for the quality of this chapter...**


	6. Picks for Bones

**Okay. I know that not much is happening in these chapters, but . . . I really don't have a lot of ideas. Actually, I have a bunch of ideas, but only for later, so It'll take me a while to get there, especially if I keep going like this.**

* * *

With a soft sigh, I dragged the piece of charcoal across the bottom of the drawer. Alfrid had somehow managed to keep my imprisoned for three weeks. During those three weeks, I had tried all sorts of ways to escape, including throwing axes at doors (which backfired), trying to make explosive potions (which backfired), and trying to summon Wolfie outside the house (which also backfired). The axe had rebounded and almost beheaded me. The potion had exploded before I had even bottled it, and my lack of knowledge in alchemy had not helped. And the guards had attacked my poor wolf.

Alfrid was an . . . interesting man. He used to come home for at least part of the day, often bringing things to entertain me. Books, books, and more books. I swear, some of the books people write are so dull.

I had tried to enchant a dagger to get past the ward on the door, but had been unable to do anything but get a headache.

He wasn't like any Thane I had ever heard of before. Lately, he had been going out more often, coming home later, if at all. I didn't hate him anymore. I just . . . couldn't, not when he came back with talk of helping people. Especially when he came back all bruised and bloodied.

His companion, the brown-haired Nord, never came into the house, and I was (obviously) never allowed out. But I did learn her name. Lydia. Wonder if she knew that her Thane had kidnapped a bandit.

I carefully put the shirt back on top of the tally marks, sliding the drawer shut. So. What was my genius plan for escape today? It was getting harder and harder to think of them.

After I had failed to find any lock picks (anything else I tried to use just melted, so I'm assuming that picks would, too), I had resorted to trying to destroy the lock. It hadn't worked. With a sigh, I went downstairs, hungry. It felt like all I ever did was eat and mope. And dust. Despite the fact that I had sworn to not help clean the house (and how I continuously left messes for the great and mighty Thane to clean up), I did dust the house every once in a while, simply because I was bored and I knew how to.

Grimacing at the empty logs, I lazily shot a stream of fire at it. Not enough to destroy anything, but enough to light a steady fire. Frankly, I was surprised that Alfrid didn't have servants or anything. I heard soft voices outside, but ignored them.

I often heard guards talking, or heard children shouting, and none of it was important. I had gotten into the habit of talking to myself (although I thought of it as talking to Wolfie), and muttered, "Barely anything. What's going to happen when he finally forgets about me and I starve to death?"

Nobody answered, so I did. "It'll show him that nothing good can come of this." Not bothering to summon my familiar (too much energy, and it was too early in the morning), I grabbed a sweet roll, warily nibbling it. It tasted slightly stale, but it would do. The sounds of tapping made me turn to the door, frowning. Who was there? Surely they knew the Thane was out? I wasn't allowed to answer the door; I couldn't even open it.

I had already tried shouting at the guards to let me out (I'd even broken some windows to shout louder), but most had ignored me. The others looked at me (or the door) curiously, but nobody had ever come to help. Apparently, nobody cared about humaneness.

I walked slowly towards the door, snatching an iron sword off the table. I wore my fur armor, because I hated walking around (despite the fact I was stuck in the house) in normal clothes. Automatically, my steps became quieter, as I slipped into a fighting position.

The doorknob wiggled, and my breath caught in my throat. Was someone opening it? Alfrid was home? But, if he was, why didn't he just open it? It had to be someone else, someone who was attempting to pick the lock. And that meant I could get out. More soft muttering outside, and through one of the cracks in the windows (Alfrid never discovered I had broken that one), I could pick up cursing.

I snuck closer to the window, peeking out. A figure wearing some kind of brown leathers was crouched furtively by the door, shooting glances at the guards every once in a while.

Sniffing slightly, I wondered what Alfrid could possibly have in here that thieves would want to steal. All he had was horrible weapons (All iron and steel! Surely the Thane could afford something better!), some kind of bones and scales upstairs (why he would want bone was beyond me), and random objects like books (all of which I had read) and soul gems (which weren't filled).

The thief growled in anger finally, and threw his or her hands up into the air. Casting another furtive look at the guards, the thief slunk off. I used the sword to break out more of the glass to see more. One of the guards looked over, but immediately looked away. I swear they think I'm a ghost or something.

I saw something by the door, just lying there. Eyes widening, I realized it was a lock pick. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrated, struggling to summon enough energy to make the pick fly towards me. Or something.

It wiggled, but didn't move any closer to me. I squinted, trying to imagine it better. The tip was slightly melted, but I could still use it. Right?

Swearing slightly, I dropped the sword and wiggled closer to the wall, trying to get a better angle. Taking a deep breath, I sunk deeper into my pool of magic. The familiar blue tinge that came with it made me blink slightly. With a deep breath, I searched for the pick, hoping to be able to get it to fly towards me.

Telekineses is a spell that I've always been fascinated with. However, I was no good at the school Alteration. But, because I was constantly attempting the spell, I had been able to do it.

Narrowing my eyes, I searched for the pick. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the sword, jerking myself out of my magic. The pick was so small that the blue glow hid it. I tried to force the sword through the window in an attempt to reach it.

The sword refused to go through the window. So I dropped it beside me, in case I needed it again. Standing, I examined my surroundings. I reached over and grabbed the poker by the fire, to poke at the pick.

The glass cut at my arms, but I didn't care about them. Healing spells could easily, well, heal it. And I was much better at healing spells than altering things. Grimacing, I poked the stick further. "Why didn't the stupid thief drop the pick closer to the window?" I demanded, angrily. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself. "Okay, Ehva," I muttered. "Just drag it towards you. . . . Come to me. . . ." The pick didn't move. "Oh, godsdarn it!" I almost used stronger words, but I didn't want to make the guards any more nervous about me.

I carefully pulled my arm back in, not wanting to draw any more blood. As I directed my magic over the scratches, sitting back on my heels, I thought. The stupid thing was out of my reach, and I couldn't magic it over to me.

I peeked out the window, to the closest guard. "Hey! Over here!" I knew better than to scream _help_. Last time, Alfrid had gotten very cross at me and threatened to move me to Winterhold.

Because I hadn't understood why he would threaten that, I had looked at his maps of Skyrim. After finding Winterhold, and how far north it was, I hadn't shouted for help again. Winterhold was teeny, and I hated snowstorms.

When the guards ignored me, I called, "Can one of you just come over here or something! I just need you to grab that pick for me!"

A little girl ran past, slowing when she saw me. One of the civilians, a tall Nord woman, grabbed her shoulder and led her away, whispering.

With a sigh, I gave one last futile shout. "Anybody?" I swear Alfrid paid them to ignore me. I stabbed the wall with the sword, half-hoping that a noise that wasn't my voice would draw them over.

When nobody came, I grabbed the poker to try to grab the pick again.

* * *

I knew it was midday when the sun was high and my stomach was growling. I put the long stick down with a heavy sigh. I'd tried tying together smaller sticks to create a long one, which was what was now in my hand, but it kept collapsing or coming undone.

After eating a short meal — I was now officially rationing. Although, worst comes the worst, I can yell for food — I returned to the door. The pick was still there, and the guards had changed. New people — hopefully kinder ones — would be there. Grabbing the poker, I knocked out more glass in an effort to keep the bleeding at a minimum.

I had just been about to stick the poker out when I saw somebody walking down the street towards Breezehome. Biting my lower lip to stifle any noise I might make, I quickly staggered backwards. The woman had her hood down around her shoulders, revealing dark hair. Gently, I crept into a position to watch, but not so that she'd be able to meet me.

The woman's leather armor was supple and lithe, and it was worn, her stride purposeful, and yet, casual. She looked like she belonged, except for her armor. She walked up to the door, and I swore mentally as her foot kicked the lock pick even further from me. She must of heard it, but she only spared a second's glance to look down before sticking a pick into the door. I know it melted because she swore softly.

Finally, I hissed, tired of just sitting there, "Hey. Thief!" And, really, what did I have to lose? The woman stiffened, and drew her hands away.

"You're never going to get through there. I've tried. They'll just melt. I think it's some kind of alteration of a fire rune, but I don't know for sure," I rambled cheerfully. "But could you lend me a couple picks? I might be able to figure out how to alter the spell so I can get out."

The woman caught sight of the glass and knelt beside the window. She tilted her head to see me. "Are you . . . stuck there?"

I nodded. "More or less. Please, just a couple picks. I'll give you whatever you could possibly want in this house."

The thief-woman's eyes softened slightly. "I cannot get you out—"

"The picks melt," I finished grimly.

She frowned. "Why are you trapped in a hero's home?"

I snorted, really just glad to talk to somebody besides Alfrid and a wolf who didn't say much. "Thane Alfrid is hardly a hero."

The thief smiled without emotion and opened her mouth, but a guard shouted, "Hey! Away from that house!"

The woman swore and hissed, her words coming faster now, "I just need scales and bones. They're dr—"

"Get away!"

We both heard footsteps, and the woman finished, "Leave them out here." And she stood up, darting away. "I didn't do nothing!" she called.

"I will," I called.

I barely saw her nod before she tossed a bag of coins at the guard. "I'm with the Guild." And then she sauntered off.

The guard cast a slightly frightened look at Breezehome before returning to his post. A smile slid across my face as I stood and tip-toed up the stairs. In his bedroom, Alfrid had a chest that was stocked full of scales and bones. They were very heavy, and I had no idea why he kept them.

The last couple of times he had come home, he had brought them. She had asked, naturally, what they were, but Alfrid had avoided the question. Why? I hadn't the faintest idea.

As I cracked open the chest, I mumbled, "Why would a thief want these?" As I pulled out some of the smaller pieces of scales and bones to put into a leather pouch, I muttered, "Why would anyone think that Alfrid is a hero?" I really couldn't imagine Alfrid as a hero. He was a Thane, and so had obviously done something for the Jarl, unless he had been born a Thane. But I couldn't imagine him born as a Thane, either.

"Alfrid? A nobleman-hero?" I demanded as I sealed the pouch. "Not if he kidnaps innocent bandits!" Then I snorted, standing again to make my way downstairs. "Innocent bandits." I grinned, walking past the fire, which was now reduced to ashes.

I poked the package through the glass. For a while, I sat there, staring at the gates. Guards stood there, and every once in a while they would shove the gates open to admit somebody, or to let someone out. I could see clouds, and fields, and blue sky. Things that represented freedom.

With a sigh of longing, I drew my hands back as the gates opened. I turned to watch whatever adventurer came through next. With a startled gasp, I realized it was Alfrid. Scrambling backwards, I accidentally knocked my long-skinny-stuff all over. The front door swung open after several seconds, and Alfrid came in. Hastily, I stumbled upright. "Oh. Hi, Alfrid."

He threw his sack at the wall (By now I knew better than to stand by that wall when he came home). Grinning wildly, despite the tiredness in his eyes and the grime on his face, he asked, "How are you, Ehva?"

"Well enough," I hastily began to grab the things from his sack, putting the weapons and whatnot into their proper places, smiling slightly when I saw new books.

Alfrid asked, "Why are there swords and stuff by the door?"

"Long story," I muttered.

Alfrid looked around. "Where's all the food?"

"I ate it."

"What's the long story?" He found an apple as I shoved books onto a shelf, sniffing it. Taking a tentative bite, Alfrid shrugged and swallowed.

"Um . . . a thief tried to break in."

"Thieves can't make it through the locks."

I muttered, "Neither can I." Movement caught my eye and I turned, seeing a figure in brown whisk past the house. My lips curved into a small smile before I returned to a blank expression. "You're a mess."

Alfrid nodded. "Getting dragged through tombs does that to you?"

"Tombs?" I asked, going over to the window, throwing glass shards outside.

"Ancient Nordic tombs, to be exact. You know draugr?"

"More or less." Using my body to keep the movement hidden from Alfrid, I poked my hand through the hole and grabbed a thin parcel. Unwrapping one of the corners, I grinned. A bundle of lock picks.

"Undead things. Not very smart, but they have big weapons," Alfrid bit into the apple again.

"That's nice." I tucked the parcel into my boot. Not very comfortable, but it'll do for now.

"Where _is_ all the food?"

I turned to see Alfrid examining the cupboards. I trotted over to him, frowning at his armor. "Did you walk into a fireplace, or something?" Using one finger, I rubbed soot off his left pauldron.

"No. I'm not that stupid." He rummaged through the plates, hoping to find more food.

Snatching a whicker basket from the top of a box, I shoved it into his hands, smirking into his startled blue eyes. "You are going to market and buying some food, because I'm confined to the house." Grinning, I tok several steps back. "And if you're going to leave me at home for extended periods of time, then at least make sure I have enough food and water."

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**Better than the last? I think it is. Review, please. And, hey, at least I updated on time! I'm not sure how long chapters are supposed to be, but I have a feeling that this chapter is going to be the norm. Thanks for reading, and not ditching me after that horrible last chapter._  
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	7. Alchemy's Magic

**So. Here's Chapter Seven. Sorry it's late, but I've had almost no time for writing. So this chapter probably sucks (but not as much as that other one). So far, this story feels like it's going nowhere, but I hope to change that. Soon. Really soon.**

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I raised my eyebrows, staring at Alfrid. "You're kidding," I said flatly. "You have to be joking."

He was sitting on the alchemy table, perfectly casual in well-made civilian clothes. "Since when do I kid around?"

"Since always," I retorted, from my vantage point by the doorway.

"Why would I kid about this?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Frowning, I admitted, "I don't know." I crossed my arms, still blinking skeptically at him.

He hopped off the table. "What could I possibly gain by kidding about this?"

"Since when do you gain anything when you kid?" I pointed out, twirling a thistle branch between my fingers. I was careful not the prick my finger, because I would really hate to lose a fight with a thistle branch. That would just be pathetic.

Alfrid sighed. "Fine. I do know alchemy — Talos strike me if I lie."

I hissed in distaste. "I don't believe in Ta—"

"Too bad. I respect him."

"Why?" I asked, still mulling over the fact that Alfrid the Great-Lumbering-Brute knew alchemy.

He didn't look away from my face. "I have my reasons."

I sighed and threw my hands into the air in exasperation. "Well, you can't expect _me_ to go around 'by-the-Nine-ing', can you?" I wasn't raised to respect Talos.

"Just saying you should think about it," he suggested, an impish smile playing across his lips. When I just glared at him, he hastily added, "So, yes, I know alchemy."

I shook my head. "You." I shook it again. "You know how to mix together the little flowers and leaves to make magic potions."

The tall Nord rubbed the back of his neck. "Not exactly. I mean, I don't know how to make all the potions. But I can make a couple!" he added defensively.

I took a couple steps towards him, looking up to see him. I was Breton, so I was short. He was a Nord, and tall for his race. With a sigh, I took another step back to be able to look at him without tilting my head back. "Which couple?"

He rubbed his hands together, going through the barrels. The various barrels and baskets in here were stocked full of seemingly random ingredients. I had even found some filled soul gems, a couple days ago.

Alfrid began to rummage through the barrels. Ever since the thief had dropped by several days ago, the Thane had only left the house for necessities, which confused me. He spent most of the time in the house. Why he didn't just leave me be, I didn't know. So I hadn't gotten around to picking the lock yet. Even when he was out, I didn't know when he would come back. So I still had the eleven picks upstairs under my bed.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he muttered to himself.

Alfrid tossed me a mushroom. "Finding the right ingredients."

I gingerly put the mushroom down on the alchemy table. "And the mushroom is for what?" Why had I ever said I wanted to learn alchemy? Once I was out, I could just buy poisons at the local stores. I didn't need to make them myself!

"Imp stool," he explained. "Very useful mushrooms." Then he tossed something else at me.

At least I recognized this one. "Swamp fungal pod."

"It's very potent," he agreed. "At least, I think it is. I am not a master at this, but—"

"Of course you're not a master," I interrupted, gingerly putting the fungal pod next to the mushroom. "Because you—"

"Ehva!" he finally said, exasperated. It amazed me, frankly, how he never got mad at me. Sure, he'd get impatient sometimes. Exasperated, definitely. But never angry.

With a grin, I teased, "Because you're some big Nordic warrior who goes around killing giants."

He threw something at me. Instinctively, I caught it. As soon as I saw what it was, my eyes widened and I dropped it as if it was a hot coal. "Holy Akatosh, Alfrid!"

"It's just a giant toe," he informed me, wide-eyed and innocent. As a response, I threw a potion bottle at him. It missed — I wasn't aiming; I didn't know if it was poison or potion — and hit the wall.

"Oops," I said, fighting to keep the grin off my face.

He just rolled his eyes. "And I don't normally kill giants. I end up running — fast and hard."

I snorted. But I've never seen a giant, so I guess I can't judge. "So how did you get the toe?" Looking down distastefully, I nudged it with my foot.

"A dragon killed it," he explained, swooping down to pick it up, his callused fingers depositing it next to the fungal pod.

My eyes widened as memories of fire swamped me. "Dragon?" I breathed.

Suspicion and cation suddenly darkened his otherwise bright gaze. "Yes. A dragon."

I shivered, sitting down on a barrel. "I would hate to encounter a dragon again."

He sat down next to me. "You've seen dragons before?" Alfrid sounded surprised.

I nodded with a sigh, grabbing the thistle branch again. "Once. Big black one. Attacked my home."

Now he was frowning, realization slowly making his features brighten. "Helgen. You were there when a dragon attacked?" Alfrid shook his head. "But there couldn't possibly have been bandits before the attack?"

"Alfrid?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Do you really think there were bandits in Helgen with that many Imperials soldiers?" Then I realized he probably hadn't known how many there were. They probably didn't include _that_ in rumors. The dragon was that much more interesting.

He sighed and snatching the thistle branch. "I guess it's ridiculous. Bandits in Helgen. But then how were you there?"

"I lived there," I told him softly, looking down at my feet. I was wearing fur boots, two picks hidden in each shoe. "Of course, when the dragon attacked, my house was burned down. Then eventually I got inducted into the bandits."

He just stared at me. "That sounds. . . ."

"Messed up," I agreed.

Alfrid shook his head, blue eyes troubled. "Barbaric."

I glared at him. "Those bandits were my friends."

"Still," he protested.

"Anyway," I continued, loudly, "Helgen's been through a lot."

Alfrid's eyes suddenly got very wide, staring at me. Was that recognition? But I'd lived with him for weeks. Slowly, he said, "Yes. It has." Then he shook his head. "Right. Anyways."

I snatched back the thistle. "You were going to do something with toes and fungus?"

He glared at me. "No. Not the toes. I was going to show you how to mix the imp stool and the swamp fungal pod."

I nodded slowly. "Right. Alright. Okay." Then I shook my head. "Right. What potion does that make?"

"Poison," he corrected.

I grinned. Being an archer (and bandit), poison was my best friend.

Seeing (and misinterpreting) the look on my face, Alfrid hastily said, "Just promise not to use it on me."

I blinked in surprise. Use it on him? I might, if it was a sleeping poison. But no bandit got away with killing a Thane, gang or no. Remembering what he'd used on me, I began to breathe rather fast. Paralysis potion. If I could use it on him, then I might be able to grab the key and run.

"Ehva. . . ." he said, gently.

"I swear by the E—" I began, but met his eyes and quickly switched course. "Nine, alright? I won't use anything you teach me against you." Of course, I didn't follow Talos. From the look on Alfrid's face, he didn't trust me. With a sigh, I muttered, "I swear, really."

He finally deflated, relaxing. "Alright, Ehva. So you use this like this. . . ."

In truth, I honestly had difficulty remembering the order of things. My mind decided to remember the unimportant things, names that didn't matter, and facts that didn't matter.

Pestle, mortar. Alembic. Leaves, gross smell, magic glowing ingredients. The way Alfrid's blue eyes reflected said glowing light, how his nostrils flared as the sharp scents drifted upwards.

I mostly just leaned against the table, eyes on Alfrid's face instead of his hands. With a sigh, I propped my chins on my fists. Alfrid was talking, hands moving rhythmically. Suddenly, he put the bowl down, grinning at me. I jerked myself out of my reverie, silently cursing. I wasn't mooning over the Thane, was I? How could I?

_He is really handsome_, my traitor mind protested.

_Shut up! _I retorted, angrily.

Was he asking me a question? Shaking my head, I asked, "Uh?"

Alfrid was frowning. "Are you alright? You're not allergic, are you?"

I stopped shaking my head. Hastily, I managed, hoping he couldn't tell my cheeks were on fire, "I don't think so. No, I'm not dying. Um . . . what's the poison for?" I looked down at the bowl, expecting to see mush or something in there. To my surprise, it was a thick light green liquid. "Oh. That's really . . . um—" I swore mentally. Since when did I act like a lovestruck girl, mooning after all the guards? Sure, I flirted with them. It didn't mean I loved them!

Hesitantly, he smiled at me. "I think it takes magic to do it."

I croaked, "Ma—" Then I shook myself, clearing my throat. "Isn't magic not favored by Nords?"

Alfrid was stirring his potion, eyes bright. "It isn't," he admitted softly, "but I use some, don't I?" Grimacing as I remembered the few times he'd used his skills on me, I nodded. Continuing, he said, "But I find it useful. Especially when it comes to alchemy. Anyways, as I was saying, I think it takes magic to make the ingredients mix smoothly."

Frowning, I asked, "Then why are Nords alright with alchemy?"

"Because it's useful," Alfrid explained, "and thieves and assassins buy them, often. Keeps the alchemists—"

I nodded, understanding. Then I interrupted, "So what does this po— poison do?"

He carefully poured the mixtures into small green bottles, writing carefully on the sides. "Paralysis," he stuck his tongue out and chewed it as he wrote, "and healing."

I sat back, glad that my cheeks were no longer bright red. "How would that help?" My mind was already half-gone, thinking about different times where I might need something like that. I couldn't think of any reason, save for that of escaping this house. But really, why shoot someone only to have them stab you later?

"For getting innocents out of the way," he explained. "Like if a dragon attacks."

I grimaced, hating that he'd brought up dragons again. "There is no way that black dragon is attacking every single city in Skyrim."

Frowning at me, he began pushing corks into the bottles. "There are more dragons than that one, Ehva."

I stared at him, horrified. "How? Dragons shouldn't even exist!" How many dragons now roamed Skyrim? Tamriel? Nirn?

"I don't know," Alfrid said with a sigh.

I picked up one of the bottles, determined to change the subject. "How many times have you used this potion?"

"Honestly?" he asked. When I nodded, he told me, "Twice. I keep forgetting to use it."

"So would I," I told him. A poison that healed? Really, what was the point? "So why are you showing me how to make it?" Sure, I completely forgot what to do to make it, because one idiot Breton had spent the entire time staring at one handsome Nord's face.

"Because I don't remember many potions," he admitted. "This is just one that I remember."

"And the others?"

Alfrid wrinkled his nose, obviously thinking. "Wheat and imp stool makes healing potions. I use those a lot."

I nodded, understanding. Healing potions had been prized among the Helgen bandits. Everyone carried a couple, except for me and Raerfi. We had relied on out magic. I guess that had become my downfall, at the end.

"I'd drink them in the middle of a battle," he offered, obviously hoping to get some reaction from me.

It worked. I laughed. "You have time to drink potions in the middle of a battle?"

"After a while, you get better at it," he promised, "The first couple times I nearly got beheaded, so I didn't do it for a while. But then it became a necessary skill, after I started going into Dwarven ruins."

My jaw dropped as I remembered the books I had read about the Dwemer. "You went into those? You're crazy! Can I have some of those potions?"

He hesitantly nodded, already going through the barrels. "Why not? And this is how you make a resist frost potion. . . ."

I carefully tucked three bottles into my boots, not really paying attention to Alfrid anymore. I'd been getting used to this type of life, talking to Alfrid and Wolfie and being confined and safe and warm. Thinking about it, I felt guilty. When I had been little, I had been used to a safe life, too. Warm fires and a mother always there to comfort me. If not a mother, then a sibling at the very least.

But my months as a Helgen bandit. . . . Those had been the years when I'd most felt alive, despite the danger. I wanted — no, I _needed_ — to get back to that life. I couldn't remain caged forever.

I sighed, pretending to listen to Alfrid. I'd been getting lazy. I'd had the chance to try to pick the locks when he slept, hadn't I? Why hadn't I taken that chance?

Why did I stick around Alfrid?

Tonight, I thought. Tonight I will work at that stupid lock. After all, I already had potions and poisons aplenty. I had weapons, ingredients, food. I could pack and break out. Of course, that was assuming I could figure out the enchantments on the door . . . but they couldn't be that hard. After all, I was the mage in this house. Not Alfrid.

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**So that's Chapter Seven. And I'm hoping, that in the next chapter, something more interesting would happen. Review! Please!**


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